Not An Addict
by Nichneven
Summary: Sam has gone darkside and wants his brother by his side... while Michael wants to wear Dean to the prom... but Dean has other ideas. Warnings – Darkside Sam. Implied non-con Wincest in early chapters, but not graphic .
1. Chapter 1

**Title** – Not An Addict

**Chapter** B 1/?

**Rating** – R-ish

**Pairing** – Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean (non-con)

**Word Count** – 1,554

**Disclaimer** - All characters and original plots belong to Eric Kripke, The CW, Wonderland, . No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended.

**Spoiler** B Seasons 4 and the first half of 5

**Warnings** – Implied non-con Wincest. Evil, Darkside Sam.

**Summary**- Sam has gone darkside and wants his brother by his side, but Dean has other ideas.

**Author Notes- **This little idea wouldn't stay away from my keyboard. I am planning a series here! Wee! Reviews are appreciated muchly.

"I'm _not_ an addict," Sam yelled, turning to punch a hole in the wall behind him. "I'm doing this—Ruby, the demon blood, the training—to protect the world."

"Yeah?" Dean asked with an agitated headshake. "How's that working out for you? Because I don't see the world getting any better, Sam."

"I'm not ready," Sam ground out, flexing his fist to dislodge the fragments of sheet rock clinging to his knuckles. "I just need more—"

"More what?" Dean interrupted, jerking his head forward to dare his brother to respond. "More time? More training? More blood?"

"Yes," Sam said simply. "All of it. Just give me more. I swear I will protect you."

"I don't want your protection," Dean shot back. "I don't needit."

"Yes you do," Sam laughed and rolled his eyes as if his brother had made an idiotic joke. "You're _weak_, Dean."

"I guess you proved that last week, didn't you?" Dean asked with a huffing laugh of his own. He pursed his lips and cocked them into a pained smirk. "You showed me, huh?"

Regret flashed in Sam's wild eyes, but triumph quickly prevailed. "I only took," he said with a dimpling smile. "What you wanted to give."

"I offered you _love_," Dean said from behind clenched teeth. "_Not_ a fuck."

"You liked it," Sam taunted, taking several steps closer to his brother. Dean turned his chin up to meet his baby brother's cruel gaze. "You always wanted me, so I gave it to you. And now here I am—all yours."

"No," Dean said firmly, not bothering to push Sam away. The smell of demon blood mingled with PBR beer threatened to gag him. "I wanted you to be my _brother_, man, never my _lover_. Never."

"You went to Hell for me," Sam reached out and stroked Dean's cheek, purposefully dragging his fingers over the cut he'd put there himself less than an hour ago. "The Hellhounds came for you because you love me."

"I will always love you, Sammy," Dean said adamantly, but turned his head to shake off the uncomfortable feel of his brother's clammy hand. "No matter what you do, I will love you."

Sam smiled and leaned in for a kiss to seal the vow.

"_No_," Dean wrenched his face away and shoved at Sam's chest. "Stop it. We're brothers, man. It's the demon blood. We've got to get you dried out."

"Not happening, dude," Sam opened his arms wide in a shrug. "Sorry, but I finally understand my destiny. I _can_ save the world. I _can_ save you. Stay and love me, Dean. I will protect you."

"Okay, Sammy, okay," Dean pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number and held it to his ear. "3916 Pleasure House Road, Onancock, Virginia."

Before he disconnected the call, Castiel stood between the Winchester brothers, his eyes fixed on Dean's tense face.

"Castiel?" Sam huffed, but finally backed away. His skin crawled whenever he stood too close to the angel. "You called your bodyguard? See, you _are_ weak, Dean."

"He is not weak," Castiel explained to Sam seriously. "He is human and his body is frail, but his spirit is strong. He has the strongest soul in existence."

Sam spat on the floor at his feet and made a disgusted sound.

"Can you get me out of here?" Dean asks, grabbing Castiel's arm and holding it tightly. "Angel Express?"

"Don't leave me," Sam rushed forward to beg, his face collapsing into a well-rehearsed expression of need. He'd crafted that exact face to wield control over his brother's love and devotion years earlier. "I need you, Dean."

Dean's hold on Castiel's arm tightens, which the angel is unable to interpret.

"You promised you would save me," Sam accused, forgetting that he'd just called Dean weak.

"Yeah," Dean stepped closer to Castiel. "I also promised to kill you. I guess that makes me a liar. Let's go, Cas."

With a ripple of air, the pair disappeared leaving Sam panting and alone.

The ground beneath Dean's feet shifted, but it had nothing to do with the recently touched down Angel Express. The compulsion to drop to his knees and weep was great. _I am not weak_. But he had expended his considerable strength in leaving Sam.

Castiel maneuvered out of Dean's grip and took his charge's arms in his own hands, granting him silent support in his attempt to remain stoic and upright.

"I can grant you temporary peace," Castiel said, schooling his voice with gentleness he'd heard humans use at funerals. "Will you allow it?"

Dean hesitated as he tried to summon anger to bolster his strength, but anger was not the emotion that doused his soul with the color of night. It was grief, trapped and unexpressed that threatened to suffocate him. His eyes closed as he ignored Castiel's hands on him, the hands that saved his pride and held him tall. He could not escape Sam's accusations or actions. His brother was his very existence. He could never kill Sam, no matter how many people it would save. What was the world, his life without his baby brother, his soul mate?

"Please," he finally rasped, willing to accept angelic assistance for the sake of a few moments respite from the anguish creeping up his spine. "Please, Cas."

Castiel touched his fingers to Dean's forehead and then caught him as he fell.

Castiel had been an angel of the Lord since the inception of time. He'd seen humans struggle from his place in Heaven, where watching the foibles of humans is considered entertainment. It is akin to humans' affinity for sitcoms and football. Over the millennia, he'd gotten vicariously involved with certain humans. He loved them for their shortcomings and attempts to gain glory.

He'd followed Galileo for his mad creativity. He'd loved the nameless Roman slave boy for his courage and honesty. He'd been enraptured by the innocence of the Russian Princess Anastasia Romanov. But he had never intervened in any of their ill-fated destinies. He had mourned their passing and then greeted them warmly into Heaven.

But Dean Winchester had caught and held his attention since his birth thirty short years prior. There was a purity, a rightness that bordered on divine… although Castiel was careful to keep that blasphemous thought to himself. He tuned in to observe Dean with religious fanaticism, watching impassively as the boy learned to walk and play and love. The one night Castiel had not watched over Dean—the only one he had ever missed—was the night of November 2, 1983. He'd been on assignment; otherwise he never would've missed the house fire that turned the boy's life inside out. The anger he felt toward his assignment and the event he'd missed had resulted in punishment. He had been forbidden from viewing Dean Winchester for the period of twenty human years. The punishment was mild, but for Castiel, it was like having his wings dipped in hellfire.

The very moment his sentence terminated, Castiel frantically searched for Dean. It took great effort to find the boy because the generous soul he'd known so well was bruised and battered beyond instant recognition. Dean was twenty-four and yearning for a missing piece of himself. The angel was frustrated and saddened that the soul he'd come to love was so damaged. He watched as Dean battled spirits and demons alongside his father. He was horrified to find that the boy launched into every altercation as if he wished to die.

After two years under Castiel's intense scrutiny, Dean finally reunited with the missing piece of his soul: his brother Sam Winchester. Castiel watched their interactions with interest. He had never watched Sam before, finding the younger Winchester to be _dull_ in Dean's presence. But that had changed while Castiel was kept away. Sam's soul glowed when it was in close proximity to Dean. There was a codependence of spirit that fascinated the angel. He came to love Sam, if only because he made Dean's soul complete.

The night Dean bartered his soul for Sam's life, Castiel wept… and then started a dedicated campaign to save him from the Pit. He risked further and more severe punishment for his persistence, but it was a risk he was prepared to take. The angel had already decided to die if he could not save Dean. He needed the human with an intensity only surpassed by his love for his Father.

When the Hellhounds came, Castiel wailed his impotency. His grief was such that it triggered earthquakes throughout South America. That got the attention of his superiors, one in particular.

"Brother," Michael had said in his oddly human-like way. "Is your heart so set? Do you love this human more than you love yourself?"

"I do," Castiel had said with great conviction and agony as he watched Dean's body be ripped to shreds. "Save him, Michael."

"He is for you to save, Brother," Michael said. "Find a suitable vessel and then go to him. I give you my blessing and the blessing of our Father."

True to his word, when Castiel found Jimmy Novak to be a suitable and willing vessel, Michael sent him, protected by the full grace of all of the archangels, into Hell to retrieve the soul of Dean Winchester.

~~ TBC~~

**A/N: I love reviews. They inspire me to write.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title** – Not An Addict  
**Chapter** – 2/?  
**Rating** – R-ish overall, PG-13 this chapter  
**Pairing** – Dean/Castiel  
**Word Count** – 2,122  
**Disclaimer** - All characters and original plots belong to Eric Kripke, The CW, Wonderland, . No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended.  
**Spoiler** - Season 4  
**Warnings** – Evil, Darkside Sam. Implied non-con Wincest.  
**Summary**- Sam has gone darkside and wants his brother by his side, but Dean has other ideas. Castiel is dedicated to saving Dean, even if that means sacrificing the rest of the world.

It was a matter of great amusement in Heaven that the angel Castiel was in love with Dean Winchester. Especially after Michael named Dean his one true vessel. The brotherly love jokes were abundant and never failed to ruffle Castiel's wing feathers. He had no idea why his older brother had chosen the human Castiel loved above all others; he'd never asked. In fact, since the announcement had been made, Castiel had ignored all attempts Michael made to contact him. He was certain that once Michael caught up with him, there would be metaphorical hell to pay. For now, he contented himself with uninterrupted time with his human.

Dean rolled onto his stomach and sighed in his sleep. Castiel watched as his arm slid off the edge of the bed and dangled, his fingers brushing the carpet. The arm was wrapped tight with sinew and scars. Castiel had memorized every single one of those muscles and imperfections. He could personally attest to the exact shade of blond of the hairs covering that arm. He knew there to be three shades of blond on Dean's body, and he could draw you a detailed map of where to find each shade.

With another sigh, Dean rubbed his face against his pillow. He was coming out of his forced sleep and into the more human REM sleep that produced violent nightmares. Castiel shifted in his chair, ready to pull Dean into wakefulness at the first sign of distress.

He was unsure how to help. He knew Sam was on a collision course with his destiny and there was little he could do to intervene. The younger Winchester was Lucifer's vessel and since Sam and his arrogance had broken the last Seal, his course was set. He could refuse Lucifer, but Castiel knew that was not to be. Sam Winchester had doomed himself with his first ingestion of demon blood. He was closer to demon than human now. The loss of Sam's warm soul near Dean's grieved him, but he could not help but feel relieved that Dean had asked to be removed from Sam's presence.

Castiel felt Anna before she appeared. He had been close with her in the past. The short time she'd spent on Earth as a human could not dispel their closeness. She was a great comfort to him and he was thankful for her company.

"Cas," Anna said in greeting, using the nickname Dean had coined so long ago. It used to disturb Castiel to be addressed as Cas by anyone other than Dean, but he had come to accept it. Everyone followed Dean's lead, even the angels.

"Anna," Castiel inclined his head but did not turn to look at his sister. "Have you come to take me to Michael?"

"Michael does want to see you," she said softly, moving to stand in front of the man staring at the sleeping human on the too-small bed. She spared a glance at the body, recalling the glory of it inside of her on her last human night. She couldn't help but have a touch of compassion for Dean Winchester. "I will not force you to see Michael. And you know that Michael will never force you to bend to his will."

"But he will force Dean to bend," Castiel said. It was not a question. Regardless of the affection between the two brothers, Michael would not grant his human pet a reprieve. The competitive relationship between brothers is very much the same, whether angels or human. "He intends to claim this body and stamp out Dean's soul."

His voice tightened around Dean's name, the only hint Anna received that Castiel was in pain. She knelt in front of her brother, trying to force Castiel's eyes to see her. Her red hair brushed over his knees, but he refused to refocus his eyes, even as Dean was temporary removed from his line of sight.

"I will die without him," Castiel murmured.

"You will not," Anna disagreed. "You will feel loss, but Cas, you are an angel. You will forget Dean Winchester with time."

"I will not forget," he flicked his eyes briefly to hers, showing her the intensity of his belief. "And I will not let Michael have him."

"Have you told Dean what he is?" She asked, challenging him. "Do you presume to know his mind, his _will_? What if he chooses to accept Michael? Will you rob him of his free will, Cas?"

"I would never."

"I am here to remind you that Dean is human," Anna said, petting his wrist gently in an unconscious human way. "Our Father gave him—_all humans_—free will. You must tell him he is Michael's true vessel and you must let him choose."

Castiel's jaw clenched tight, the muscles lining the side of his face jerked and rolled. He was afraid that Dean would sacrifice himself to save the world. It was very much like the oldest Winchester brother—so selfless and brave.

"I am also here to caution you," Anna continued. Castiel leaned slightly to the left and set his gaze upon Dean once again. He had no use for warnings. "Zachariah also wants to talk to you. He will find you soon and he has no use for free will. You know that, Cas. He will take what he wants without regard to your bond to this human."

"I am aware."

Anna twisted and sat between Castiel's legs, joining her brother in watching Dean as he slept. They sat in silence for several minutes, basking in the purity of the soul before them. He was indeed a righteous man, even through the torture he dealt in the Pit. He pulled his dangling hand back into the bed, tucking it beneath his chest with yet another sigh.

"Does he know about your bond to him?" Anna asked.

"No."

"Well then," Anna stood and pressed a brief kiss to her brother's forehead. "I guess you have two things you need to tell him. Peace be with you, Cas."

The papers on the nightstand fluttered as she took her leave. At the same moment, Dean lurched awake and whirled on the bed, eyes panicked and alert.

"Cas?"

"Yes, I am here," Castiel did not jump to his feet as he would have liked. His fingers itched to touch Dean's skin and sooth his fear. "Nothing is amiss."

"Dude," Dean collapsed back into the bed and rubbed his eyes with his fists. "_Every_thing is amiss. Didn't you get the memo?"

Castiel allowed a small smile. Sam had once explained exactly what a memo was and what that particular expression meant. He found it amusing.

"Have you checked on Sam?" Dean asked, not unexpectedly.

"No, but now that you are awake, I will see what I can find," Castiel said as he stood. It was a personal risk, returning to Sam Winchester, who was being sought by his brethren as well as a legion of demons. But if Dean wanted him to check on his little brother, then Castiel would do it. "Will you wait here for me?"

"Yeah, I'll take a shower and get some coffee."

Castiel concentrated and in a tick of a clock, stood before the other Winchester brother in a quiet meadow. Sam's face was turned toward the sun with his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips.

"I wondered if you'd be back," Sam said quietly, grudgingly breaking the rare bit of peace he'd been able to find. "Did he send you?"

"Of course he did," Castiel said at once. "He is concerned."

"He left me," Sam sounded forlorn and too young. He opened his eyes and looked at Castiel, his pain obvious. The hazel of his eyes was burning away by degrees. Slowly, the black of ink and demons was replacing the rich autumnal color of his irises. Castiel resisted the urge to flinch away.

"He wants to save you," Castiel explained. He spent a lot of his time explaining things to the Winchester boys, but he didn't mind. "I will help him save you, but you must tell me how we can do so. How do we save you, Sam Winchester?"

"_I_ am going to save _you_, you idiot," Sam said with an irritated shake of his head. "I've been given the tools to defeat Lucifer and I _will_ use them. Tell Dean to sit tight and be fucking amazed."

"The angels will stop you, Sam," Castiel said, letting his voice turn pleading and desperate. "They are out there right now, watching, waiting for you to go too far. Their vengeance will be swift and almighty."

"The angels don't scare me," Sam said as if the thought God's army was as strong as a house made of toothpicks. His gaze, made eerie by the invading blackness searched Castiel's face. He pulled his mouth down in an interested expression. "But they scare _you_. Which I find fascinating."

"I fear for your brother," Castiel said with more honesty than strictly necessary. He had hidden his attachment to Dean from the prying eyes and minds of humans. He could protect Dean better without the complications assigned by the humans around him. "The angels want him, too."

"Dean?" Sam's teeth gnashed together and the ink in his eyes stretched further. "Why are they after Dean?"

"The particulars are not of import," Castiel said, adding the _to you_ silently. He would never tell Sam about Michael's foolhardy plan to inhabit his Dean in order to defeat Lucifer. "Is it not enough to know that your brother is in danger?"

"I will save him," Sam said, reminding Castiel of the parrots he has encountered in Heaven. "Fuck the angels."

"You hurt him," Castiel accused before he knew the words were coming. He blinked in surprise. It was rare that he lost control and spoke without great consideration. "You forced him to take you in his body."

"Fuck you, Cas," Sam stalked away from the angel. "Don't talk to me about my brother."

"You defiled him," Castiel persisted, taking quick strides to keep up with the excessively tall man. Sam jerked his head as if the angel had punched him in the jaw. "He is your brother and he loves you. And you defiled him. Why?"

"Come on, Cas," Sam laughed, quickly hiding the wound Castiel had inflicted with his pointed words. The sun beat down on the pair and sweat beaded Sam's upper lip. "You know you've thought about doing the same thing."

"Never," Castiel began, flustered for some reason he could not identify.

"Whatever," Sam scoffed and threw a heavy arm around the other man's shoulders. "I see the way you watch him. You want to strip him down and ride him into the sunset. Can't blame you there; he's as good as you've probably already imagined, Cas."

Castiel found his stomach churning in discomfort. His mouth was flooded with too much saliva and his ears rang with a tinny sound. He was unfamiliar with the exact sensation, but he thought his vessel might be preparing to vomit.

"You all right there?" Sam asked, his forehead creasing in concern. It looked so damn real. "I didn't think angels could puke."

"I am disgusted by you," Castiel gasped, yanking away from the man he once considered special and beautiful. Once the physical connection was severed, his stomach settled almost instantaneously. He felt an overwhelming pull in the center of his grace to return to Dean for a dose of love and a reminder of human kindness. "If you attempt to hurt Dean in anyway, I will smite you myself."

"You know, I think I would enjoy killing you," Sam said, tilting his head to one side, a clear mockery of Castiel's own tic. "Maybe I'll make a point of it very soon."

Castiel licked his lips, not from fear but from intense concentration. He wanted to strike him down immediately. This Sam was no friend of his; this Sam was no brother to Dean. At the thought of Dean's name, he released the building tension in his chest. Dean would be furious if it was Castiel that ultimately destroyed his little brother. Yes, Castiel knew that Sam would soon die if he did not reverse on the path of evil, but he would try his hardest to _not_ be the one who pull that particular trigger.

"You must resist this evil, Sam," Castiel said urgently. Pollen swirled in the air, peppering their clothes with yellow dust and tickling Sam's nose. "Please. If you die, Dean—he is not whole without you. You must resist, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes, but by time the rotation was done, Castiel had vanished along with the bothersome pollen.

* * *

**A/N: Review? Why, yes please! I would love that!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title** – Not An Addict  
**Chapter** – 3/?  
**Rating** – R-ish overall, PG-13 this chapter  
**Pairing** – Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean (non-con)  
**Word Count** – 2,178  
**Disclaimer** - All characters and original plots belong to Eric Kripke, The CW, Wonderland, . No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended.  
**Spoiler** - Season 4  
**Warnings** – Implied non-con Wincest. Evil, Darkside Sam.  
**Summary**- Sam has gone darkside and wants his brother by his side, but Dean has other ideas. Castiel is dedicated to saving Dean, even if that means sacrificing the rest of the world.

* * *

Castiel sat patiently, waiting for Dean to finish in the shower. He chose the couch after much deliberation. If he sat at the table, in front of the open laptop, Dean would remember Sam had left it behind. If he sat on the unruffled bed closest the bathroom, Dean would remember Sam had not slept there the night before. If he stood by the door, Dean would think of Sam walking out on him.

So he sat on the couch and he waited.

The water turned off and Castiel heard the whoosh of a towel being pulled from the silver rack over the toilet. He let his eyes close so he could focus on the familiar and comforting sounds of Dean at his ablutions. Immediately, the scratch of coarse fabric over soft skin burst through the closed door. One… two… three… and then at ten… the plastic shower rings slide and bump over the metal rod, the fabric of the curtain moving quickly to one side. One… two… the rush of air as Dean steps out of the stall and plants his feet on the tile, two tiny splashes in the moisture created by steam. One… two… three… four… swish-swish as the terry cloth towel is knotted around Dean's waist. Another woosh, another towel, this time to wipe away the condensation on the mirror above the sink with three quick, squeaky swipes. One… two… three… four… five… creaking as he grips the vanity edge with strong hands and squeezes.

Castiel can hear the ten rasps of breath it takes for Dean to regain control of his emotions. The breaths signal the start to the day, and it is the most difficult seconds of Castiel's day; to endure sitting so close to Dean without the means to save him from his internal torment.

A soft moan, so quiet that no human would ever guess at it, and the ritual is complete. Dean is ready to face the world and all of its monsters. Three sharp steps and a click of the doorknob and Dean steps back into the main room.

"Hey Cas," he said, unsurprised to find his friend on the couch, waiting. Sometimes, Dean swears he could feel Cas before he ever sees him. A sort of angel telepathy or some kind of crap like that. He was glad to see Cas did not sit in any of Sam's spots. "Did you see him?"

"I did," Castiel confirmed, smoothing the front of his tie. Humans liked to fidget. It made other humans feel at ease, gave them something to focus their eyes on in times of discomfort, so Castiel fidgeted. "He is alive. I am afraid the demon blood is unraveling him. His eyes are stained and worsening."

"What do we do?" Dean asked. "Can I save him, Cas?"

"If we cannot save him," Castiel avoided the first question, as he had no response. "He must die."

"I won't kill him," Dean said instantly. He punched his arms through an olive green shirt and yanked it over his head. "And I'll take down anything that tries. That includes you and your dick buddies."

The angel drew a long breath in through his nose. He found the action soothed him and allowed him to taste the air. Dean's scent played at the back of his throat and he curled his tongue up to touch it, shivering when his taste buds exploded with joy. He could almost understand Dean's ecstatic look as he rolled a homemade piece of rhubarb pie around his mouth, although Castiel knew no pie could compare to the earthy sweetness of Dean's essence.

"Are you paying attention?" Dean snapped. "I said I'll take you down if you try to kill Sam."

"I hear your words," Castiel said, watching Dean toss the towel around his waist toward the open bathroom door, unashamed by his nakedness. He didn't hurry in stepping into a pair of boxer briefs followed by his favorite and much abused jeans. Castiel swallowed, another human trait he'd managed to cram into his subconscious. "I will stand with you against any who try to harm Sam. You will not be alone, Dean."

Dean looked up at the fervor in the angel's voice. Castiel had gotten to his feet and found himself pulled by an invisible force, closer to the only Winchester that mattered. He could not deny himself the indulgence of touching Dean's skin, if only for the barest of moments. His right hand, in particular, tingled with the pull of Dean's skin so close. He lifted his hand and reached for Dean.

Dean twisted his face away, afraid that Cas was about to send him back to oblivion. He needed to be awake, to be ready, to be available for Sam. Before he could activate his feet and put distance between himself and his friend, Cas' fingers lightly touched his neck, the tips sliding unexpectedly into his hairline. An army of shivers marched up and down his spine.

"I am here until you send me away," Castiel said, the unerring honesty pitching his voice lower than normal. "And even after that. I am your angel, Dean. Even after you die, I will be there to shepherd your soul into heaven. Even then, I am your angel."

"Jesus Christ," Dean exhaled in a whisper. It was rare, Dean losing his ability to respond with a snarky comeback or a witty rejoinder. He could, in fact, count those occurrences on both of his hands with plenty of fingers to spare. That moment, as he turned his head back to gape at Cas, was one of those occurrences. "Jesus Christ."

"He was just a man," Castiel said with a slight tilt of his lips, proud of his joke. "I am an angel. I'm _your_ angel."

Separated by less than six inches, the space between the two men vibrated with energy. Castiel felt it in the center of his chest, thrumming out toward Dean, but he doubted the human could detect it.

Dean gasped at the heat rolling across his chest. It was pleasant, as if warm hands were massaging the tension out of his muscles and soothing him to sleep. He could see the heat—the energy—where it flowed from his chest to Cas'.

"Is this some freaky angel crap?" Dean demanded, but didn't turn away from the connection.

"Yes," was the only answer Castiel could give. "It is my promise to you. I am your angel and I vow to fight for you and the beliefs you hold true. If it is your belief that we will not kill Sam, then I will never lift a hand against him. I swear to it."

Dean shifted his weight, knowing he should be uncomfortable with intensity of the situation. His first instinct was to shove Cas away and tell him to shut the fuck up. He didn't want another person to worry about, to be responsible for. The world was ending; no way did he need another tether holding him to it.

"What do I give you?" Dean asked instead of pulling away. Nothing ever came for free. "Am I… wait. You're my angel, huh? Does that mean… am I… _wait_."

"You are my human," Castiel said, curling his fingers possessively into Dean's hair.

"No, no, no," Dean barked, but didn't move out of Cas' hold. "I don't belong to anyone, least of all you, Cas! I'm not your friggin' pet!"

"It only means that I am your guardian," Castiel hurried to explain, regretting his choice of words even though they tasted like fresh cut grass and sugar cane in his mouth. "You are my human in the sense that I love you above all other humans. You are _my human_. No angel will strike against you."

Dean eyed him suspiciously.

"There is one thing I would like," Castiel said, forcing his fingers to relax and slip away from Dean's skin. "But it is not a requirement. I am your angel regardless of your answer."

"Ask away, angel boy," Dean said gruffly. He needed a drink. Was it too gauche to drink at nine-thirty in the morning? Maybe some sacramental wine.

"A kiss," Castiel breathed. "Kiss me."

Dean licked his lips reflexively. He was so damn thirsty. The man in front of him was _his_ angel. And his angel wanted a goddamn kiss. He almost laughed, but decided he didn't want to seal this crazy ass moment with a snort. His eyes itched to flick away from Cas's ridiculously soulful blue eyes. He wanted to look to his right and see Sam's bemused expression from his seat at the table by the door. He thought he could push Cas's shoulder playfully and make a Precious Moments joke.

But in the end, what he did was— oh, what the hell.

He licked his lips again, held Cas' face in his palms and exerted the tiniest bit of pressure to bring the angel to him. Cas was compliant and moved in tandem with Dean, as if he was just an extension of Dean's very hands.

Castiel's lips parted as soon as they connected with Dean's, creating enough of a gap that Dean's bottom lip fell in. The angel was struck immediately by the soft fullness in stark contrast with the hard planes of Dean's body. An odd pounding sound filled the space between his ears; he thought it was his vessel's heart trying to explode, or maybe his grace trying to sing.

Dean kept his mouth closed, but felt his lower lip trapped between Cas'. The band of energy between them quivered and expanded to envelop his entire torso, where it tickled at his spine. He felt queasy and unbalanced at the intrusion and shoved Cas away.

"So that seals the deal?" Dean asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips tingled numbly and the pressure reinstated feeling. "You're my angel and you won't kill Sam?"

"Just so," Castiel said evenly. The stretch of energy snapped back into his chest with a painful lurch. Dean had wiped away their kiss, disgusted by the intrusion. The angel was thankful for his well-trained face. It hid the ache he felt, the embarrassment at Dean's rush to separate. "Although you do know the kiss was not necessary. I am not a demon, Dean."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said, stepping around Cas to busy his hands with sorting through meaningless papers on the table. He knew those damn blue eyes were on his back, burning an entry into his flesh. "What's next?"

"I will go for now," Castiel said.

Dean looked up at the gruff quality of his voice, but it was too late. Cas was gone. Dean growled and threw the papers in his hand against the wall. The weight of the Apocalypse, the painful abandonment of his brother, and now the pressure of _owning_ a goddamn angel… it was just a bit much to bear. He made a sound bred from fury and frustration, loud and full of open syllables. The papers fluttered around him, falling to the floor in slow motion. One small card fell atop his bare foot and he kicked it away, turning it right side up.

It wasn't a card at all. It was a picture. He bent down, kneeling on the blanket of papers, and looked at the faces grinning up at him. It was taken a few months ago, before they'd realized that both Heaven and Hell had doomed the Winchester boys. Two brothers, arms thrown around each other's shoulders, shots of Patron held aloft at a random dive in a random town in a random state. None of that mattered at the time, hell, even the moment itself hadn't mattered. But the fact that Sam had taken the time to print the picture—_that_ meant everything. Dean snatched the picture up and carried it to the empty bed. He propped it up on the pillow, sat on his own bed and stared at the photo as if he could will his little brother back.

"You're a dick, Sammy," Dean muttered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. He paused, but kept his hands over his eyes. Cas had taken that picture with Sam's phone. He'd forgotten the angel had been there, had been riding the backseat of the Impala even though there was nothing keeping him from dis-friggin'-apparating back to the calmer climes of Heaven.

Cas, _his_ fucking angel of the goddamn Lord, had been with them at that random dive in that random town in that random state. It had been _his_ angel who took that picture that hadn't mattered at the time. Cas had taken it and Sam had printed it. Somehow, it all mattered too much.

"You're a dick, too, Cas," Dean said with a sigh. He flopped back on the bed and reached for the knife under his pillow, seeking the comfort it always gave him. "You said I wouldn't be alone, but look at me now. You hear me? You are a fucking _dick_."

**_~TBC~_**

* * *

**A/N: I LOVE reviews, even if it's just to let me know you're reading. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title** – Not An Addict  
**Chapter** – 4/?  
**Rating** – R  
**Pairing** – Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean (non-con)  
**Word Count** – 1,698  
**Disclaimer** - All characters and original plots belong to Eric Kripke, The CW, Wonderland, . No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended.  
**Spoiler** - Season 4  
**Warnings** – Evil, Darkside Sam. Implied noncon Wincest.

**Summary**- Sam has gone darkside and wants his brother by his side, but Dean has other ideas. Castiel is dedicated to saving Dean, even if that means sacrificing the rest of the world.

* * *

There's a place that Sam likes to go to think. A hidden cave in the woods behind Tony's Diner in White Center, Washington. The Winchester clan had stayed there for just over two months when he was thirteen. His dad had rented a small cottage a mile away from Tony's on the green side of a nameless mountain. Sam had discovered the cave on one of his many walks through town. It quickly became his own personal haven in the storm that was his father and brother. In his cave (he called it The Sam Cave, which he thought was pretty funny), he could curl up and read a book without being teased about being a geek. He could stare into space without being bitched at for wasting time. The hole in the mountain was his thinking spot. Given his cave and an unbroken stretch of time, Sam could riddle through any dilemma.

But he was very far from The Sam Cave as he puzzled over how to handle the three things on his To Do list:

1. Kill Lucifer  
2. Save the world  
3. Get Dean to come back to him.

Not necessarily in that order. He wanted Dean at his side—or maybe slightly behind him—as he defeated Lucifer and saved the world. He was driven to prove himself to his brother, and what better way than to rescue humanity from the damn devil? His jaw clenched and slowly ground together as he thought about Dean's lack of faith in him. That stupid interfering angel was the problem. He'd known for months that Cas was in love with Dean, even if his brother was too stupid to see it himself. Hell, even if Dean was too stupid to see that he was falling for the angel in return. Sam understood that Dean refused to see the love blossoming because he was blinded by the love he felt for Sam. Dean had always loved Sam more than anything else and Sam had always been shrewdly aware of that love. In Dean's fucked up head, love equaled weakness. And hell, maybe it was.

There was history between the brothers was something stronger than the impetuous lust Cas felt for Dean. They were two halves of the same soul; hell, everyone knew that, especially Cas. Sam was Cain to Dean's Abel. He was the yin to Dean's yang. The tab A to Dean's slot B. They fit together and no damn angel was going to come between them.

So yeah, he'd taken the necessary steps to stub out any future Dean might be contemplating with Castiel. Dean was his and he did not like to share, especially not with a pussy angel who had a penchant for trying to kill him. Sam had pinned Dean to the bed—using just the smallest bit of psychic mojo—and planted his flag in the virgin territory of Dean's ass. One step for Sam, one giant leap for Winchesterkind.

Not that Dean hadn't liked being claimed in the name of Sam. Hell, his normally stoic brother had cried out so loudly that the people in the adjoining room had banged on the wall for silence. A firm hand to Dean's throat had taken care of the noise level, and had resulted in a lovely purple necklace the morning after. Dean had sat across from Sam at breakfast, gingerly shifting to find a comfortable seat, not bothering to hide the proof of their lovemaking hanging like a noose. In fact, as Sam recalled, Dean had chosen a wide-necked shirt that damn near spotlighted the swollen marks that moved deliciously with every swallow Dean attempted.

"Why, Sammy?" Dean had asked, his voice as quiet as a whisper. He held his neck stiff, as if he'd gotten whiplash in a rear-ender.

"Don't worry," Sam had said with an exuberant grin. "We don't have to let anyone know about us. I mean, I don't care what anyone thinks, but if you do, then we'll just keep it private."

"Have you lost your mind completely?" Dean asked, his face contorted in rage. His voice, still a whisper, made a mockery of his anger. He flinched and reached up to touch his neck but thought better of it and dropped his hand to the table. "You fucking _raped_ me, you freak."

"Dean," Sam leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes in clear warning. Dean blinked at hardness that crept into his brother's look. "You don't have to be embarrassed by what we did. You and me—I'm surprised it took us so long to finally get here."

"Sam," Dean's whisper turned soft and he tilted his head with great effort. He reached out and touched his baby brother's fingertips. "This is not right. You used your powers on me. You pinned me down and wouldn't let me go. You _hurt_ me, Sammy, look at my neck. You did that to me."

Sam dipped his chin to his chest for a moment. He was thirsty, so he reached for the flask he kept in his jacket pocket. He watched the cap twist up the grooves of the flask before raising his head again. His tongue swiped along his lips in anticipation.

"No, Sammy," Dean's hand shot out and gripped Sam's wrist in an attempt at stopping his brother from drinking from that damnable flask. "Please don't."

Before he'd really considered it, Sam flexed his powers, wrapping a tight fist of air around Dean's throat once again. Dean gasped and clawed at his skin, raking red scratches through the existing deep purple marks.

Sam watched his brother grapple with a monster he could never defeat. He pressed the mouth of the flask to his lips and tipped it back, enjoying the thickness of blood running down his throat. It soothed him, like coffee once had in a previous life. The heady smell of it filled his senses and the power of it burst through his very pores.

Dean banged his fist on the table to get Sam's attention. He was turning a sickly shade of blue. Dean never looked good in blue, Sam thought as he pulled his powers back.

"Sorry," Sam said, sliding a glass of water across the table to Dean. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing," Dean said, his voice nothing more than a breath disappearing into the air.

The phone in Dean's hand pressed hard and unforgiving against his forehead as he tried to push a headache away. He'd taken a handful of pills—a fine blend of Tylenol 3, Ibuprofen 800 and Vicodin—but the pounding was relentless. The pain was hungry for something Dean could not give it. He had picked up the phone to call Cas back to him, desperate for a little angel HMO, but he couldn't force his fingers to dial the number. His pride was more important than the pain. He was pissed that Cas had bailed right after pledging himself to Dean. If that's what fealty was, then fuck it all; he was better off alone.

He had no idea _why_ Cas had pulled his classic prest-o disappear-o act. They'd been about to plan their next move with Sam and then _blam_ the angel took off. Fat lot of good it did to have your own freakin' angel if you couldn't keep tabs on the fucker.

Dropping the phone, he reclined on the bed, hoping a nap would kill the epic pain in his head, not that he really expected to be able to sleep. Sleep and him weren't on good terms during the best of times. But before he could curse his inability to drift off, he was gone, sleeing soundly through a dream that looped around itself endlessly.

He and Cas talking. Cas' declaration. The kiss. Cas' disappearance.

The ringing of the phone broke the infinity loop of images. Dean jerked awake, blinking fast and groping the bed for his phone.

"Hello?" he rubbed his forehead where the pounding had petered down to a dull ache. "Cas?"

"It's me," said a voice Dean would know from any other in Heaven or Hell. It was his brother, his baby brother, who held the world between his oversized hands.

"Sammy," he sighed. The ache behind his eyes ebbed under the onslaught of relief. "What… where…"

He trailed off because there was nothing to say. No, he trailed off because there was _every_thing to say.

"I know, man," Sam said and Dean thought that yeah, maybe he did.

A wide stretchy expanse of silence ate the moment. Neither brother initiated the conversation they needed to have. The stillness between them had been missing for weeks and it tasted sweet to both boys. This was the silence of two people beyond comfortable with one another. This was the silence that always permeated long road trips in the Impala, or doldrums days trapped in too-small motel rooms. It was the silence of comfort and love.

Dean burrowed back into the pillows and closed his eyes.

Sam, a million miles away for all Dean knew, leaned against the crumbling wall of an abandoned warehouse. A partially drained demon hung from a rafter, still warm and dripping, as it swayed to and fro like a ghastly pendulum. Sam licked his lips, the taste of blood still strong on his tongue. He let his eye lids droop for the first time in days.

The world spun around the silent pair at its normal pace. The sounds of traffic, laughter, and bugs bounced off their bubble, leaving them in suspended animation. Seconds ticked into minutes that stretched into an hour, but the silence remained the same, until finally, a sound disrupted the perfection.

Sam heard Dean's metered breathing, deep and relaxed.

"'Night, Dean," he said softly.

"'Night, Sammy," Dean said in response. He let his phone slide away as he rolled to his side and fell into peaceful sleep.

Sam pulled his knees to his chest, huddled against the wall and watched his demon piñata twist horrifically in the air. He could do with a snack.

~TBC~

**A/N: Well, this section felt very dark to me, lol. Reviews are like puppies and rainbows.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title** – Not An Addict  
**Chapter** – 5/?  
**Rating** – R-ish  
**Pairing** – Dean/Castiel, Sam/Dean (non-con)  
**Word Count** – 2,071  
**Disclaimer** – Nothing is mine. Woe.  
**Spoiler** - Season 4  
**Warnings** – Implied non-con Wincest. Evil, Darkside Sam.

**Summary**- Sam has gone darkside and wants his brother by his side, but Dean has other ideas. Castiel is dedicated to saving Dean, even if that means sacrificing the rest of the world.

* * *

There's nothing that wakes Dean, no sound, no breeze, no shifting of temperatures. But his eyes open in the middle of the night and fall unerringly on the propped up picture of he and Sam on the empty bed. The smile that used to light up the whole freakin' world was no longer his to access during times of need. The picture teetered and fell face down onto the mattress with the smallest rush of air. Dean twisted into a sitting position, his eyes searching the darkened room with a practiced ease.

"About time," he snapped at Cas, even though his human eyes had yet to discern the damn angel's exact location. He figured he'd be by the door, but the angel liked to keep him on his toes, so he had no idea where to focus his attention. "Where have you been?"

"Out," Castiel responded with a diffident lift of his shoulders.

Dean started at the sound of his voice, so close—too close—to his ear. He scooted up the bed, closer to the headboard and denied the urge to pull his knife from under his pillow. It was _Cas_. There was no way on earth that Cas would ever hurt him. Hell, he rather thought Cas was physically unable to hurt him after that vow crap.

"Out?" He asked when he found his voice again. He clicked on the lamp bolted to the wall beside his head and blinked up at Cas' somber expression. "That's what you come back with? _Out_?"

"I needed some alone time," Castiel told him with heavy honesty. "And I thought you would want the space as well. I'm sorry for being a dick."

"You're sounding more human every day," Dean noted with something close to disgust. He liked that Cas was learning his way around human vernacular and speech patterns, but it changed the angel in some way. He seemed more tangible, more approachable… more fallible. That sucked. "And are you apologizing for leaving me after you swore you wouldn't? Because apology not accepted."

"No," Castiel blinked in surprise. He had left for a valid reason and his vow was a broader promise than just acting as a steady dinner companion; he would never abandon the man. And Castiel would never break that vow. "I meant that I should not have asked you to —I am just sorry. For all of it."

Dean knew in an instant that Cas was apologizing for the kiss. Which was stupid, and he intended to tell him, but his stared at the facedown picture behind Cas instead. He couldn't help remembering the night Sam had come home, bragging about his first kiss with Carly Haggard in eighth grade. His cheeks had been flushed high and red, his lips a puffy complementary shade of pink. Dean had high-fived his little brother, slung his arm around Sam's shoulders and took him out for a celebratory pizza and pie fest. Even though Sam had been embarrassed to dish the details, he'd done it to satisfy his older brother's eager curiosity. Dean remembered how the tips of Sam's ears had gone magenta when he talked about his tongue curling against the back of Carly's teeth. And how they'd gone purple when Sam admitted that Carly had wiped their kiss away with the back of her hand. And he remembered teaching Sam how to guarantee that no girl would ever wipe his kisses away again.

"Cas," Dean sighed at his own idiocy. Of course Cas thought Dean had wiped his mouth to rid himself of the kiss. It hadn't occurred to Dean that Cas had been thinking about anything other than Sam during their abbreviated embrace. Hell, _he_'d been thinking about Sam… which, okay, was fucked up. He groaned and dropped his feet to the floor. Leave it to him to have the most sensitive, most needy angel in Heaven as a freakin' pet. "You can always ask me for anything. I might say no—hell, I'll probably say no a lot—but if I can do what you want, I'll always do it."

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, anything, but he closed it without any words leaking out. He settled on narrowing his eyes and tilting his head, hoping Dean would see the question mark hanging in the air.

"That came out wrong," Dean said and inched forward on the bed.

"You did not want to kiss me," Castiel summarized, inclining his head in an unspoken apology. And then he followed up with a low: "I am sorry."

"Dammit, Cas."

"I won't ask you again," Castiel continued, straightening his head and clearing his eyes of any disappointment or apprehension. He filed away the memory of the kiss—minus Dean's reaction—to rewind and replay when he was alone with his thoughts. "Shall we—?"

"_Dammit_, Cas," Dean said again, pushing out of his warm bed to stand in the angel's personal space. Cas shuffled back until his knees hit Sam's empty bed. Dean leaned forward at the waist, bringing him face to face with his retreating friend. His hands curled into fists at his side and swayed oddly in the air.

Castiel shifted away, bowing uncomfortably over the bed behind him. If he disappeared again, Dean would be furious, that much was obvious. He considered popping across the room, because he was clearly in Dean's way, but he just couldn't work his angel mojo up.

And then, with a movement as quick as a cobra's strike, Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's. The room emptied of air and left the men standing in a vacuum of time and space. Castiel's hands gripped at nothing, his muscles ticking spasmodically, searching for something to ground him. The promise between them leapt to life and sent sharp, strong fingers of energy and intention straight through their chests and anchored deep within the chambers of their hearts. Tendrils curled up, snaking their way to the recesses of their brains where true emotion is stored. Hooking deep, the tendrils unfurled into blossoms of robust pink joy and blood red love, locking the human and the angel together in such a way that the end of the world—that God Himself—would be wont to pull them apart.

Dean wanted to hit something; Dean wanted to hit Cas. He needed to drown in Cas; he needed to break the surface to escape. He was shoved down to his knees; he was pulled up to his feet. It was too much, the feeling pulsing just under his skin. Dean had never been good with expressing his emotions, except when he could use his fists. If he could just hit Cas, shake Cas, push Cas, grip Cas, _hurt_ Cas… maybe then he could relieve the raging storm inside.

They were two men in one blink of time. They were two sets of hands that did not touch or grope or cling. They were two sets of lips creating the barest of physical connections. There were no tongues, no teeth, no groans to sully the chaste press of mouth to mouth. They were a promise. They were _the _promise. The vow tightened its dominion on the pair.

"Cas," Dean pulled back, dragging his angel's name with him.

Castiel looked up at Dean's glory and marveled at it. Just as his lips twitched into a soft smile, pricks of light jabbed at his eyes. He shook his head and prayed that his eyes not be singed out of their sockets for daring to look directly into the wondrous face of his beloved, his blessed above all others, his Dean. He drew in a deep breath he hadn't realized his vessel had desperately needed. His borrowed heart twisted and pounded painfully and he lifted his hand to press against his chest. Another breath, drawn in an attempt to ease the ache, only resulted in a sharper pain. He cried out and stumbled backward, tripping onto the bed behind him.

"Cas!" Dean reacted with the instinct both born and taught to him, leaping across the tiny divide of the beds to kneel at Cas' side, his hands moving with rough assurance. "What is it? Where is it? Tell me, Cas!"

"I don't know," Castiel gasped, ripping at his shirt. He was burning alive; his insides were melting. He thought briefly that he was being cast down for taking what truly belonged to his Father, but a warm flicker of assurance touched his Grace, telling him in so many words—without a word—that that his Father had not abandoned him. He tried to hold on to the comfort, to help him face the tortuous pain, but it slid through his fingers as easy as silk ribbon. "Father… Father, please!"

"Let me," Dean shoved Cas' hands away and tore the white button up shirt open. There were no marks, no blood, no evidence of perfidious injury. He pulled the shirt open wider and ran his hands over the pale skin of Cas' ribs and sides. If his kiss had done this to Cas… if God was smiting Cas because of what he'd done, he would never forgive himself. He would find Sam and beg to die. "I don't see it. Christ, tell me what to do!"

Boiling. Castiel's skin was boiling. He curled his shoulders in, trying to stamp out the fire. He needed to smother it. Dean's face appeared over his, green eyes wide with panic.

"Put it out," Castiel begged, grabbing his human's hands and slamming them against the scorched chasm where his heart once beat. "Make it stop!"

The skin beneath the fingertips of Dean's right hand bubbled and burst open. The smell of blood and singed skin permeated the air. Cas arched his back off the bed and screamed, knocking Dean to the side and off him.

As quick as it came, the pain was gone. Castiel's body shivered and stuttered, his breathing shallow pants of residual pain. A faint curl of smoke rose from his chest and filtered through the room.

"Cas," Dean growled and skittered across the bed, ignoring the destroyed skin of his own fingertips. He paused, hovered above the angel's partially exposed body. There, right where Dean had touched his chest… in the valley where his pecs met… five oval marks, angry red and territorial. "No… God, Cas. I'm so sorry."

"What is it?" Castiel asked, his voice raw and abused. He tried to lift his head, but his vessel refused. For the first time in his angelic life, he was exhausted. "Is it gone?"

"Is what gone?" Dean asked, more out of habit of clarification than true curiosity. He could not pull his eyes away from the mark he'd left on Cas.

"My heart," Castiel asked weakly, lifting his hand to touch the throbbing skin of his chest. "Did my Father take my heart?"

"No," Dean said and knocked Cas' hand away. "Don't touch it. I… we should clean it."

"What is it?" Castiel forced his head off the bed and glanced down. He could only see the last trails of smoke puffing away from his body. He glanced at Dean, whose face was drawn tight. Castiel struggled to sit so he could offer comfort. "Dean? What _is_ it?"

Dean reached down and gently helped the angel right himself. He brushed away the crumpled picture of he and Sam that stuck to the back of his hand. It fluttered across the bed and fell to the floor.

"It's a brand," Castiel said in wonder, staring down at the quickly mending holes in his chest. Five distinct finger shapes, with five distinct finger prints arced over his chest, a crescent shape that started low with a half thumb and rainbowed up and over, ending with a full pinky print.

"A brand?" Dean leaned forward to examine the mark. There was no denying it as a mark that matched the one on the hunter's shoulder. His fingers itched to brush against the ruined skin, but he held still, afraid that his touch would once again send Cas into agony. "But why?"

"Touch it," Castiel murmured, lifting Dean's hand to tentatively press against the puffy skin. He felt his human stiffen and then relax as his fingers fit against the burns. "You have marked me, Dean. You are my human."

"Yeah," Dean said in a whisper that gave away his overwhelmed emotions. "Yeah, I am."

~TBC~

**A/N: Reviews are made of kittens and win. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title** – Not An Addict  
**Chapter** – 6/?  
**Rating** – R-ish  
**Pairing** – Dean/Castiel  
**Word Count** – 2,544  
**Disclaimer** – Nothing is mine. I'm so depressed about it that I'm on Prozac.  
**Spoiler** - Season 4  
**Warnings** – Implied non-con Wincest. Evil, Darkside Sam.  
**Summary**- Sam has gone darkside and wants his brother by his side, but Dean has other ideas. Castiel is dedicated to saving Dean, even if that means sacrificing the rest of the world.

* * *

The empty, dusty room of the condemned L'Hotel Angleterre was a perfect meeting space for the crowd of demons assembled. The Demonic Bat Signal had been cast and those who answered the call stood in loose groups. They fixed curious, skeptical eyes on the man whose call they'd answered: Sam Winchester.

Sam smirked, understanding their reticence to meet his eyes. His reputation, indubitably, preceded him. That pleased him, when so many things in his life failed to do so. He walked amongst the demons, discreetly inhaling through his nose, sniffing at the blood before him. There was one scent that floated to the top of his attention: the burnt flavor of licorice and eucalyptus.

"You," he said when he stood in front of the one he wanted. The demon wore the skin of a tall man—Sam noted him to be the same height as his wayward brother—with dark hair and eyes. He did not cower or step away, nor did he look directly at Sam. "Who are you?"

"I am Shax," the demon said with a regal bow of his head.

"Will you be the first, Shax?" Sam asked in a coaxing voice, letting a smile stretch his lips until his dimples caved in. He offered the demon his hand, palm up. "Will you stand with me?"

"I will," Shax inclined his head again and dropped his hand into Sam's. Several demons shuffled away from Shax and Sam, muttering to each other in astonishment. "I am prepared to serve the true commander of Hell, as I always have been. I have heard of your greatness and am eager to pledge my allegiance to you."

"Interesting," Sam said, walking backward toward the stage, tugging Shax along with him. "I want to taste that honesty of yours."

"Taste my honesty?"

Sam reached for, and passed by, the knife Ruby had generously donated to the cause. He glanced down at the heavy watch on his wrist. Hm. Ruby was late. He picked up a standard knife that would cause very little damage to the humans, and none to the demon himself.

"Your blood, Shax," Sam said, twirling the knife in his hand. "It tells me a story. What will your story be? Will you serve only me and live? Or will you serve Lucifer and die?"

Shax tried to pull his hand away and failed. Sam smiled and twisted the demon's arm. With a quick downward slash, Sam opened the flesh of Shax's forearm and quickly brought the wound up to his waiting mouth.

The collection of demons pressed closer, but their apprehension saturated the room and tainted the smell of their presence. Shax struggled against Sam's hold, but it was futile. This was the Winchester of legend. As his blood flowed over Sam's tongue, Shax gave in to the pulling sensation and leaned closer to his captor. His story—his own legend—poured down Sam's throat. He was Shax, the forty-fourth spirit. He can steal sight, hearing and understanding from any being—as well as any object he wishes. He can find anything and anyone—no matter how hidden they may be.

Sam made an appreciative noise. The demon in his mouth was a Duke in Hell, once in possession of thirty legions of demons. Thirty legions of loyal and subservient Hell spawn were exactly what Sam needed to succeed. He lapped at the cut in Shax's arm, searching for the answer he demanded: loyalty.

"You are Him," Shax murmured, pushing his arm eagerly to Sam's mouth, wanting to give more of his essence. "It is _you_."

"It always has been," Sam pulled away and smiled at Shax, his new _loyal_ servant.

Shax turned to the anxious audience and opened his arms wide. "This is our master," Shax's hoarse voice rose to a powerful level and shook the dusty chandelier. "He will lead us from Lucifer's dominion."

"He is human," someone objected.

"He carries our blood within him," Shax said with a convincing smile. "He is us. He is _all _of us. Come forward and give yourself to Sam Winchester. He will carry your strength with him into battle!"

Sam licked his lips and blinked slowly. A tentative line of the ready and willing took shape in front of Shax, the great finder. With his help—with his specialty for finding hidden things—he would be able to locate Dean no matter how hard Castiel tried to cloak him. He would send a legion—_his_ legion—in to kill Castiel for him. No sense in having Dean pissier than normal. With the bothersome angel out of the way, Dean would have no one. Sam smiled again and corrected himself. Dean would have _Sam_.

Once he had Dean back, he would turn Shax's GPS Tracking System on Lucifer and end this once and for all. He was tired of Dean's defiance.

"There is no precedent for this," Castiel said as Dean prodded at the five-fingered scar decorating his bare chest. Dean grunted his understanding. "I cannot ask the other angels about this."

"Of course not," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. "Sam's on the Angel's Most Wanted List. If they know about _this_… talk about chumming the water."

Castiel smiled at the mixed metaphor. Dean could always make him smile, more so than anything else that existed on the planet. Well, he amended quickly, he found the TV show _Wipeout_ hysterical. But he would challenge anyone—angel or human—to resist laughing at that.

"What are you so damn happy about?" Dean pulled his fingers away from the brand and watched Cas' smile broaden.

"Big balls," the angel said as he absentmindedly buttoned his shirt.

"Big… what?"

"_Wipeout_."

"Oh," Dean barked a surprised laugh and shook his head in disbelief. Leave it to Cas. "Yeah. Big balls."

Castiel slid the last button into place and reached for his tie. Dean stilled his hand with tentative fingers.

"You want me to leave it off?" Castiel asked, his smile dimming to smirk he'd learned directly from the source. Dean nodded and licked his lower lip, a subconscious tic that Castiel loved more than dew on grass in the early spring. "You don't like these clothes, do you?"

"I've never been a fan of suits," Dean confessed with a shrug. "You should try a pair of jeans. Once you go denim, you'll never go back."

"Okay," Castiel said. He stood abruptly and unbuckled his belt.

"What are you doing?" Dean jumped up and took two healthy steps back. Hell, he'd just kissed the guy a few hours before. He wasn't prepared to think about what that meant—especially without a barrier of cotton and/or polyblends between them.

"Can I try a pair of your jeans?" Cas asked, stepping out of Jimmy's dress slacks and dropping them on the bed behind him. "if I am dressed like you, we'll be less conspicuous when we investigate."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean turned his back on the naked-from-the-waist-down angel and dug out a pair of jeans. He shoved them at Cas with his back still turned. He heard Cas unfurl the wrinkled pants and shake them out. With two swishes of denim against legs and one loud zip, Cas was safely dressed.

"These do feel nice," Castiel commented, rubbing the palms of his hands down the front of his thighs with a delighted look on his face. He glanced up at Dean, searching an opinion. "And they fit."

Cas was just a touch shorter than Dean, but the jeans were an exact fit—albeit baggier than they were on Dean. The frayed edges of the hems touched the floor in the back and scrunched at the top of the scuffed loafers Cas had inherited from Jimmy. Cas looked better in the less formal pants, so much so that Dean didn't even care that they were his favorite jeans. He would never ask the angel to relinquish them. Hell, he could never wear them again after seeing Cas in them. Jesus, but Cas _owned_ those jeans.

"You, uh," Dean had to cough to kick start his voice. He turned back to his duffel. "You need a different shirt. That one looks ridiculous with those pants. Here, try this one."

Dean didn't bother to keep his eyes averted as Cas unbuttoned the shirt he'd only just re-buttoned. He stared in open fascination as Cas' sure and nimble fingers pushed and pulled until the shirt fell open from shoulders to belly button. Dean's eyes fell immediately on the brand and felt his throat tighten. The wound was healed, but the scar was permanent. He had an overwhelming urge to run his tongue over the ghost of his fingers, to trace them, to commit them to memory.

He crossed the gap between them and, resting his hands on Cas' bare arms, bent and pressed his mouth to the first mark, the half-formed thumbprint. He trailed his closed lips over the raised skin before sucking the entire form of his own thumb into his mouth. From above, Cas strangled out a half-breath and gripped Dean's arms. Dean was afraid of being pushed away, but it was a fear born in stupidity. Cas pulled Dean closer as he pushed his chest forward. The feeling of Dean's wet mouth against this seared skin was an injection of adrenaline to the heart.

Dean, silent and determined, repeated the action on each of the five marks. He took his time, dragging his tongue along the ridge of each spot of ruined flesh. His teeth nipped at the same path, wringing shallow pants wrapped in sharp little cries from Cas. In one final, long lick, Dean moved from the pinky-sized print over the rainbow arc and ended where it all began, with the thumb.

He straightened, lifting his eyes to look at his flushed and shivering angel.

With a sound made of frustration and relief, Castiel yanked the salvation of man forward and slammed his mouth to Dean's. There was no waiting for compliance. Castiel thrust his tongue into Dean's mouth, chasing the taste of his own skin. He was aware, distantly, that Dean was kissing him back, with as much vigor as he was applying to the task. It was heavenly, although Castiel knew the truth: Heaven was nothing compared to the inside of Dean's mouth.

"Well, this is touching," a voice tore through Castiel's low whimpers and Dean's persistent silence.

Castiel jerked away from Dean and simultaneously shoved Dean bodily behind him, prepared to defend his Winchester from all comers, even Zachariah. Before their bodies had settled, Dean had maneuvered partially in front of the angel, shielding the mark on his bare chest. As if a conversation had passed between them, Castiel hastily buttoned his shirt.

"Michael has been patient with you," the silver-haired angel said by way of greeting. "He says your disobedience is born of love and therefore not blasphemy."

"You cannot take Dean," Castiel said with more conviction than he actually felt. Zachariah had always worked off the reservation, skirting the perimeter of God's directives.

"Michael needs him to say yes," Zachariah agreed. "But he's not particularly concerned with how he gets that yes."

"Whoa, wait," Dean stepped forward, bridging the gap between the two angels. "Take me where?"

"My, my," Zachariah tsked and shook a mocking finger at Castiel. "You haven't told him. Aren't you a naughty little cupid?"

Castiel riled at the insult, but brushed aside his anger. His focus needed to be focused on Dean, on escaping with Dean. He crept forward, his fingers outstretched.

"Cas?" Dean turned his head for an explanation. He blinked and when his eyes opened, his legs swayed beneath him. The hotel and Zachariah were gone and he found himself in the middle of a forest, thick trees veiling the sun. "What the hell?"

"He shouldn't have been able to find you," Castiel lifted his hand away from Dean's wrist and stalked away, running both hands through his hair in a way that had Dean thinking of Sam. "The sigils. He should not have been able to find you."

"What was he talking about, Cas?" Dean followed the madly pacing angel, determined to have his answer. "What haven't you told me, you son of a bitch? Is it Sam?"

"This is not about Sam," Castiel snapped, turning on his heels to face Dean. "This is about _you_. Why do you think I pulled you from Hell?"

Dean flinched away from the anger in Cas' voice. He pulled in a breath and started to answer with snark.

"If you say anything about your perky nipples," Castiel warned. "I will smite you."

"Tell me what you know," Dean said instead. If he hadn't been so fixated on the gathering of information, he might would've laughed at hearing the angel say 'nipples'. "And don't leave anything out."

"You are the chosen vessel of the archangel Michael."

Dean blinked, trying to force his brain to process the information. He understood what a vessel was. Jimmy was Castiel's; Sam was Lucifer's. But he was no one's vessel.

"Michael needs to manifest in human form to defeat Lucifer," Castiel continued. His face and voice were wiped free of any emotion or inflection. This was the Castiel of the garrison of the Lord, protecting the ground he'd gained. "And Michael has chosen _you_ as his vessel. He needs your permission to take your body. Your reward is eternity in Heaven. It is a sweet deal."

Dean concentrated on his breathing. Some angel wanted to use his meat to fight Lucifer—who was hell bent on wearing Sam. It was twenty kinds of fucked up.

"Why me?" He finally asked, because out of all of the questions he had mosh pitting around his head that was the one that surfed to the top.

"He knows you to be worthy," Castiel answered at once. He lowered his head briefly, but forced himself to look Dean in the face to admit his betrayal. "I told him you are a good man. I told him you are… worthy."

"Dammit, Cas," Dean groaned and pulled his angel into a hug. He turned his face into Cas' neck. "When will you learn that's not fucking true?"

Castiel lifted his arms to return the embrace, but Dean was already gone, taking up the task of pacing furiously from tree to tree, touching low hanging leaves as he went.

"I won't do it," Dean said, as if he had considered it. "There's no reason Michael can't come down here and smite the hell out of Lucifer without me. He's an arch-freakin'-angel. I am a human. My skin—perky nipples or not—is not going to help him win this fight."

Castiel smiled.

"So, there's an angel hit squad out looking for me?" Dean asked, stopping in the middle of the clearing. "You said he couldn't take me. Why not?"

"You are my human," Castiel reminded him. "Michael respects that bond, even though he wants you to concede to him. He will only inhabit you if you invite him in. Zachariah… doesn't feel Michael is making the most rational decision."

"Yeah?" Dean arched a brow. "Well, fuck Zachariah."

"My thoughts exactly," Castiel said, his lips twitching. "As eloquent as ever, my pet."

"Woof-woof," Dean rolled his eyes.

**~~TBC~~**

**A/N: Reviews are like Dean's lips and Cas' eyes.**


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